Do these pants make my asteroid look big?

So, while The Boy is out of town, I've been watching all manner of trash TV.  Right this minute I'm watching Ruby.  Ruby is not on my regular list of trashy reality shows...I am just too busy watching 16 and Pregnant.  Frankly.

So, anyway.  Ruby.  Apparently Ruby is a virgin.  I don't know how old she is, but she's gotta be older than me.  And he "ex" boyfriend is on the show - and there's some kind of weird vibe where he sort of sets off my gaydar, but also he makes a lot of googly eyes at Ruby and talks about getting her to give him some nookie.

But, what I really wanted to discuss is...she doesn't cuss...she substitutes.

Her "butt" is her "bertha".  Her "ass" is her "astronaut".  "Hell" is "helicopter".  I can't even remember the rest.  The whole thing was just so weird.  Not because she doesn't cuss, and not because she's a virgin...but...because she's just so weird and Southern about the whole thing.

There's something about her that really makes me uncomfortable.  I think it's because I have lived so long with the feelings of inadequacy that being overweight can bring, and with the shame that comes with being with guys who only want to be with you in the middle of the night when their friends can't see. 

I don't know.  It's causing me to think.  She's very annoying, but I think there's a universal truth there somewhere about being a woman, and overweight, and ashamed...and still wanting to be sexually desired, whether you can admit it or not.  And, if you can admit it, and you find someone to fill the role, can you ever believe they mean it?  Maybe that's the thing...I cringe for her because I cringe for my past self...I want to scream at the TV "there's no way this is real!  RUN!  he's going to point and laugh and make fun of you and you have to GET. OUT. NOW."

Hmmmm.  Something to ponder.

I am woman, hear me whimper

So, I talked to The Boy, and it's decided...I'm signing up for my very first ever creative writing class.  He's going to hang with Baby Spatula (I don't believe in "babysitting" your own kids), and give me some time to do this thing that I think really calls to me.  So, yay!

Meanwhile, I've been thinking a lot about the balance of life.  Like...we only get so much time, and there are ALL these things you want to fit into that timeline.  Career, school, baby(ies?), partnership with spouse, fulfilling personal activities, friendships, time to actually enjoy it and watch it and participate in it.  What a battle!  Anyway, no finished thoughts on that, but it seems like things just get thornier every day. 

Na-ee-na-na-ja...It's not that hard.

Lately I'm having a crisis of faith.  Not in the religious sense, but in the sense of my own faith in myself.  Faith in my abilities.  Faith in my personality, my people-skills, my aura...if you will.  It's weird.  I've worried about my looks, my body, my style, my hair, my raggedy nails, even my recent inability to force myself to wear lipgloss because I'm just too damn tired.  But, usually I don't worry about whether I'm likeable.  And now I do. 

My therapist says that I basically always act like everything is OK, so people assume that I am, even when I need support.  She also says that it is therefore my fault when people don't realize I need more support, that I have feelings that can be hurt, that I want their love and acceptance.  It's kind of weird, because...don't we all want love and acceptance.  Do people really think that there are other people who DON'T want that? 

I'm working on being more mindfully needy.  I made that term up just now.  Aren't I clever?

Textual criticisms on the ending of Mark.

Title of a paper I wrote Freshman year of college.  Swear to God.  I had a theory that professors would give you a better grade if the title sounded like you knew what you were talking about (even when you very clearly did not).  I took this Religion class because I thought it would be easy, but it turned out to be pretty interesting.  It was taught by a Rabbi.  I don't miss religion in my life per se - but I do miss church.  I kind of liked the community, the commonality, the conformity (there, I said it!).  When I was little, I loved to get dressed up (the pink-and-purple dress, when I spun around it would fly out and show my cotton underwear with tiny colorful flowers), and head to church.  There was always a children's service where I could run down the aisle, exit out the side door, and then go to a small room and learn fun songs and make art projects with cotton balls as Jesus' beard. 


Jesus on construction paper with popsicle sticks and glitter.  Oh yeah.  Somehow, I think he'd be impressed.

You might not know what "bee bo" means - or maybe you've forgotten...

It's just the tiny hippo way of saying....HOLY GOD ALMIGHTY I read a lot of stupid kids books.  Seriously. The Hippos love balloons, they love belly-buttons, and they especially love going berzerk.  FYI.

In other news - Baby Spatula is doing great.  She's so awesome and is getting really close to crawling.  It's pretty hilarious to watch her get up on her hands and knees and just rock SOHARD back and forth - trying to just figure out what comes next.  I can't wait, but I'm also terrified.

Motherhood is so much fun, and believe me when I tell you that I never, ever, ever thought I would utter (or write) those words.  I love it.  I want to have a hundred more babies right now.  The only problem is that I would have to be pregnant to have them, and being pregnant pretty much sucked the hugest bag of ass ever. So, there's that.

I'm thinking of taking a creative writing class this year. 

And, finally...I have recently heard that many people hate me when they first meet me.  The good news is, I found this out in the most awkward way possible by a whole bunch of people I really like and respect.  I always think of myself as being pretty confident, but I've been reading Emotional Intelligence by Daniel Goleman, and I think I might be one of those people that denies their feelings while pretending everything is OK.  So, in case you're wondering...my feelings are STILL hurt.  It's been months and I can't stop thinking about people hating me and making a bad first impression and all the detailed explanations that were given for why I am "over the top". 

The Boy is going out of town for a couple of weeks, so I guess I better go suffer through the gourmet meal he's making and the wine he brought me... :)  At least I know someone likes me.